


native here and to the manner born

by dictatorships



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dictatorships/pseuds/dictatorships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may be a prince, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	native here and to the manner born

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a short little thing I wrote about Sebastian because he's my favorite character and his past is so interesting to me. So here's a take on his background I suppose. The title is part of a line from Hamlet, ha.

Sometimes, it's really hard for you.

You suppose that could be considered a lie because it's really hard for you all the time. You've been placed on this impossible pedestal and are expected to adhere to everyone's absurd expectations of you, expected to be just like your brothers. Walk like this. Don't do that. Princes should not carry themselves like common men. Dress more like your title. Don't speak to her. Don't act like him.

Everyone is watching and if they think you are about to mess it all up, even for a split second, they're on you like vultures. They will pick you apart, destroy every shred of humanity you have left, every bit of decency you've managed to scrape together to try and preserve who you really are.

You hate it.

You hate all of it. None of this is what you want, you never _asked_ to be born into aristocracy. If you could leave, there is no doubt in your mind that you would. But your father has put such strict limitations on what you can and cannot do. You're under his watch at all times, and if not his, you're under constant surveillance by guards. You're learning all the things that someone of your importance should know, of course. Archery, calligraphy, which fucking fork goes with which fucking meal, it's all being crammed down your throat.

But you are not your brothers.

So you find a way to take back what is yours, you start (not so) quiet rebellions to establish that this is your life and you're going to do what you want with it. Drinking and whoring, staying out past curfew, dressing down, gambling to your heart's content, but that was all okay. Your father sighed heavily, merely annoyed by your "foolish common pranks," and assured you that they could erase this before it was made known to the public.

"From here on out, you will stop all of this foolishness. You're an embarrassment."

An embarrassment and a prince, that is what you are. That is all you are.

You were always too nice for politics.


End file.
